“They’d better be, my lords. I need to get them under cover by nightfall, though fortunately it won’t be too chilly,” the doctor said. “Moving will hurt some but help more.”

Then, absently under his breath as he returned to work, “Christ, I never thought when I got out of Johns Hopkins I’d end up sewing up sword-cuts and pulling out arrows in godforsaken Walla Walla County.”

“We have plenty of wagons and carts, my lord de Stafford. It’s not far to Castle Tucannon and the Grimmond-on-the-Wold manor,” the local baron said. “My people should be arriving with the transport any moment.”

“Then let’s get moving.”

De Grimmond fell behind for a moment to whisper into Ingolf’s ear as the Marchwarden rode on with his lancers at his heels.

“Ah . . . about my lord de Stafford . . . just a word to the wise . . .” he began.

Ingolf blinked in surprise as he listened; Mary snorted from his other side as the baron heeled his horse forward again.

“You mean you couldn’t tell?” she said.

“No,” Ingolf said shortly.

“Tell what, Unc . . . Colonel?” Mark said.

Ingolf thought for a moment, then told him. The young man goggled for a moment. “Him? But . . . but . . .”

Mary laughed, which added to his confusion; he had what he probably thought was a well-concealed burning crush on his uncle’s wife. Who was only five years older than he was, after all.

And good-looking if I do say so myself, Ingolf thought a little smugly. If you like ’em tall and blond and with an eye patch, which I do.

She reached over and tweaked the young man’s ear. “Welcome to the club of those who’ve had their butts looked on with the eyes of desire, Mark,” she said. “I’ve been a member since I was much younger than you, and it’s always a hoot when guys complain about it. That’s what I noticed about Lord Rigobert; he didn’t. Look lecherously, that is; not even a glance.”

“Lord de Grimmond said he’s a perfect gentleman, though. Knows how to take no for an answer,” Ingolf said. Then he grinned. “It probably isn’t relevant, Mark. I never did make a try for every pretty girl who caught my eye, either.”

“You’d better not,” Mary said, amused; Mark sputtered a little more.

“You look like a landed carp,” Ingolf said; teasing the boy was probably unkind but irresistible. “And you’re turning the color of a ripe tomato. What’s the problem?”

“Because he looks like, well, like a fighting man!”

This time Ingolf laughed out loud; Mary chortled too, not unkindly.

“Son,” he said, “what did I tell you assume does?”

“Makes an Ass Out of You and Me,” Mark answered automatically. Then: “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”